The Trophy
by Jhiz
Summary: Rachel Morgan can handle just about any challenge with the help of her spells and her friends... too bad tonight's supposedly harmless event doesn't include any of her normal fail-safes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a just a short foray into the world of the Hollows and all the standard disclaimers apply. I do not embrace these characters at the level of my normal fandom so if anyone has comments on development of characters, I would greatly appreciate the input. This short tale falls after solstice in Every Which Way But Dead and before Jenks' return to the church in the early spring of A Fist Full of Charms. I also hope that I have not screwed up the time line either. **

**Also of special note, if you like the image thumb-nailed to this story, it was kindly loaned by Grace10Hove on deviantart. If you have a chance, check her other works at grace 10 hove. deviantart. com. Thanks for the loan!  
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**Now, on with the read... - me**

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><p>Turning one more time to check my reflection in the mirror, I sighed before dropping my brush on top of my cluttered dresser. The black handled torture device barely had room to sit on the surface which is covered with small cut glass bottles filled with a vast variety of perfumes.<p>

"Well, that's about bloody useless," I muttered in disgust at the tangled mess that I had made of my frizzy red rat nest that most people would call hair.

"Stupid FIB director and his stupid FIB rules," I added aloud. I was alone in the silence and I realized with some worried guilt that I had been talking to myself a lot lately. I may have a graveyard in my back yard but I hated feeling like I lived in a tomb. Unfortunately, the church had felt a bit like one lately. Without the constant giggles, games and general mischief of Jenks' almost three score pixie children skittering through the church, the large space just felt empty. My sole remaining roommate wasn't exactly the most socially engaging person. With just a hint of self pity, I figured that might be my fault too.

A flash of worry stabbed through my thoughts as I glanced through my open bedroom doorway towards Ivy's room. It was currently empty since my living vampire partner and best friend was completing a short term run. I sighed. There was reason number two for missing Jenks. She was on a run without our normal pixie back-up.

It wasn't that she had to be alone. I had eagerly volunteered to help her. To be honest, I had practically begged to back her up. In typical Ivy fashion, she had just smiled smugly, tossed her highlighters into her cup, folded up her plans and firmly informed me that I couldn't skip my previous engagement because of her little, insignificant run. The gorgeous, dark-haired vamp had then left the room laughing a bit sharply at my desperate sputtering.

I sighed one last time and then promised myself that I would not do it again. I knew that Ivy was fine. Her run was little more than a sneak and peek to get visual confirmation on an item that her vampire client believed a rival borrowed without the intention to ever return. Now, if it had been a snag and drag, then I might have insisted on being back-up. Seeing as she was having dinner at the home of someone she considered family friends with her dead vampire mother, I had no real basis for a strong argument. She was in no real danger. Any persuasive points I made would have been obvious for what they really were. They would have been an excuse. A lame excuse created solely to avoid attending the FIB event tonight.

"Even a lame excuse would be better than this torture," I complained to the empty room.

Smoothing my hands down the sides of the freely flowing shimmer of material that was my gown, I glanced one last time at my reflection. Kisten had picked out my outfit for the evening. Shaking my head as a soft smile settled on my lips at the thought of the sultry living vamp I was dating, I decided that I needed to allow him to dress me more often.

The dress was surprisingly comfortable and flattering. The shimmering dark green material appeared almost black as I flipped the light switch in my bedroom and entered the more dimly lit hallway. I forced my feet from turning to the right and taking the couple steps to the incredibly perfect kitchen and the promise of a quiet night spelling. Instead, I turned to the left and silently padded down the hallway. The whisper of flowing fabric followed my progress into the sanctuary of the previous church that we called home and office.

The doorbell rang.

I scowled slightly as I glanced at the wall clock. I stalked to the entrance and threw open the door.

"You're ten minutes early," I sharply accused the man on the steps to the foyer.

Dark brows rose at the harsh accusation even as I realized that the man standing before me was not my escort for the evening. I had been expecting a dark skinned, handsome cop in a tuxedo. What I got was a startled elf in a conservative suit with pock scarred skin.

"Good evening, Ms. Morgan," Quen murmured as smoothly as if I had happily greeted him and not just yelled in his face.

I took a step back and and put my hands up. Here was another reason to lament Jenks disappearance. He or one of his brood would have warned me of the elf's impending arrival and I never would have answered the cursed doorbell.

"No. Just no," I resolutely stated as I shook my head. "Whatever it is that Trent wants, the answer is no."

"But Ms. Morgan," Quen attempted once more as he stepped forward with his desire to enter the foyer obvious. I blocked his entry with the door by simply refusing to open it any further.

"This was not the excuse I was looking for," I grumbled under my breath at whoever in the universe had decided that Trent Kalamack really wanted to save me from being on display at the FIB event tonight.

As if reading my thoughts, Quen's lips quirked slightly and his eyes sparkled with amusement. When I yet again told him no and moved to shut the door in his face, his brief flash of entertainment disappeared. His hand intercepted my rude attempt to stop whatever his purpose was in showing up on my doorstep this chilling winter evening. His firm grip prevented me from slamming the door in his face. I was sorely tempted to put my shoulder to the backside of the door and force it closed.

"Now, Ms. Morgan," Trent's head of security tried one more time. "I just need a few minutes of your time to make a request."

"No, Quen. The answer is still no. Whatever Trent wants or thinks he needs will just have to be gotten somewhere else. I refuse."

Quen braced his hand against the large wooden door and shifted it out of his way so that he could step into the relative warmth of my darkened foyer. I scowled my fiercest grumpy expression at the intrusive elf who didn't seem interested in taking my no as the final answer. Fleetingly, I wondered if giving into the quiet, self-contained elf was going to become a habit that I would need to break. After all, I had already given into his requests once before and I ended up blown up by a bomb, frozen in a river, and insulted by a nasty-tempered and spoiled elf. The only positive thing had been the strawberry waffles. Well, the waffles and not actually dying.

"We need your services for this evening," my uninvited guest explained.

I couldn't help the slightly vindictive grin that cracked my lips as pure joy welled up inside me as I realized that I had the perfect excuse.

Quen's eyes shifted from the top of my head down to my feet then rose quickly to meet my gaze.

"You are even appropriately dressed for the job," the elf continued as if I had not already told him no enough times to even convince a hormonal teenager that I meant what I said.

"Sorry, but I already have plans this evening," I explained as I turned slightly and grabbed my tiny black purse that matched my black slipper-like shoes. Kisten had valiantly insisted that I needed to wear heels but there was no way I was attending the FIB's event without comfortable shoes. It had been a losing battle for the living vampire from the beginning. If I was reduced to having access to nothing magical for protection, I sure as hell was going to have shoes that allowed me to protect myself physically without breaking my ankle. Although I would have preferred a pair of my boots, Kist and I compromised on the slippers. They were comfortable and would allow me to run if nothing else.

"I am sorry if it will interfere with your date, but we truly need your assistance," Quen tried again. "We will make it worth your time."

I sighed again. It seemed like it was the evening for it. Once more, I offered a denial. This time, I explained that I already had a job this evening. I didn't have a choice. Edden had threatened to arrest me if I tried to avoid the event. He expected me to arrive on time and on Glenn's arm like the perfectly innocent little trophy I was supposed to be tonight. When I mentioned attending the FIB event, Quen's eyes widened just slightly.

"If you didn't wish to arrive as the trophy prize of the enforcement agency, I am sure we could do something about it," he attempted to bargain as the security head still tried to angle for my agreement.

A horn blasted from the front of the church.

I shook my head one more time as I grabbed the thick, green cloak trimmed with some dark animal fur that Kisten had insisted went perfectly with my gown. I swirled the warm garment around me and pulled it closed. I felt silly in the cloak. It was like I was little red riding hood going off to see grandmother. I chuckled as I imagined how truly pissed Edden would be if I got waylaid by a wolf along the way. With my luck, it would never be a simple wolf. It would more likely be a rabid Were out to eat not only me and my grandmother but half the town too. Now there was an excuse I could appreciate. It was definately preferable to whatever elf issue Trent wanted to spring on me.

My doorbell rang.

I all but shoved the now silent elf from the church sanctuary before he tried one last time to convince me to at least listen to his request.

"No," I repeated firmly one last time as I pulled open the door to reveal my startled escort and keeper for the evening.

Quen nodded his head once and swept down the front steps. Even a cop on his time off, Glenn's dark eyes followed him suspiciously as I closed the door and headed towards the officer's dark sedan. I opened the passenger door and slid onto the fake leather seat. I was soon joined by my smartly dressed FIB friend.

"That was Trent Kalamack's chief security officer," my escort stated with obvious interest.

"Yep."

"You going to tell me what he wanted?"

"Nope."

Now it was Glenn's turn to sigh.

We sat in the uncomfortable silence as he attempted to determine how to convince me to spill my guts on my mystery visit. He knew me well enough to believe that anything that involved both me and Kalamack was sure to come back to bite him and the FIB in its collective ass. I was silent because I was still trying to decide if it was a good thing that Quen had given up so easily. For some reason, it bothered me. Trent and his lackeys were normally a lot more insistent in getting what they wanted. It made me suspicious. The silence grew until Glenn couldn't stand it any more. He started his car and turned the still warm heat to full blast to beat back the chill that had already settled into the car during his short trip to my door.

The FIB officer smiled as he decided the best way to lighten the mood. His white teeth flashed in the darkness as his grin grew.

"By the way, Ms. Morgan," Glenn intoned. "Cute freckles."

Oh yeah, that improved the mood.


	2. Chapter 2

Silence was practically a third companion in Detective Glenn's sedan as he maneuvered through the early evening traffic. We had left the Hollows behind when we crossed the bridge into the city proper but a quick zip onto the interstate had moved us rather quickly around the city. With a perfectly timed signal, my escort exited the highway at the last city ramp before the highway opened up heading northward. Deciding to toss the uninvited guest out the window and onto the front lawn of one of the few upscale neighborhoods in the suburbs that catered it's community to humans, I broke the silence.

"So what should I expect tonight?" I questioned of Glenn who was watching diligently for any hazards approaching the road. Although most good little cookies were tucked safely behind doors now that the sun had set, it was still early enough for stragglers to be wandering the cold twilight because of the season of the year. Shorter winter days meant more humans out after dark even to just follow their regular routines.

"What were you told?" he countered.

"Your dad told me to smile like a good little trophy and keep my mouth shut as much as possible."

Glenn snorted. It sounded exactly like something his father, the captain for his division at the FIB, would say. Edden liked the red-haired witch sitting in his son's passenger seat but he knew she could be a larger liability than an asset when it came to political play. Like his parent, Glenn too respected and liked the young woman beside him despite her stubborn streak and blatant disrespect for authority. Admittedly, he would like her even more if the disrespect to authority didn't include him at times but he was slowly learning that her little quirks were part of what allowed her to be successful in situations where most others would fail. It was those same quirks that kept her alive and he had to respect her strengths even if he thought they were weaknesses.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "You're supposed to be the perfect trophy witch on the FIB's arm."

"Well, my arm," he added with a grin.

Since Glenn could be the poster boy for all things FIB-like, I figured being on his arm would be just like being on the organization's arm. Glenn had nice arms but it really wasn't where I wanted to be. Resisting the urge to growl in frustration over my job as FIB trophy, I asked what else I should expect besides their expectations of my muteness. Glenn just chuckled and told me to be pleasant.

"So can I speak with anyone beside you?" I snipped. Being pleasant might be a stretch this evening.

"Look, Ms. Morgan," Glenn sighed in frustration. "You can talk to anyone you want. We just need you to be careful what you say. Our division has taken a lot of flack from the national level at our willingness to work with not only a witch but also a renegade I.S. agent."

"Ex-I.S.," I muttered grumpily which only made Glenn sigh again. It must have been the night for it. Either that or I had the sighing disease and was slowly infecting the world one acquaintance at a time.

"Come on, Ms. Morgan. Just give us a little understanding here. The federal director for the entire FIB is attending this event. We need you to be on your best behavior and not alienate him."

Glenn paused in his plea. "Please... Rachel," he begged.

Sighing, I reluctantly nodded my head which drew a smile from my escort. His white teeth gleamed in the dim light. Happy with my concession, Glenn decided to respond to my other request for information as he explained the other things I could expect during the evening.

"Well, you already know that you will be expected to wear a zip bracelet to ground out your magic. The Kennywilde Country Club is an Inderland-free club. Their security is top notch and we were only able to get you into the building because it is part of a federal mandate."

Secretly, I doubted the club was as Inderland-free as Glenn claimed it to be. After all, there were other rare races that might be able to fool their best security. The humans may have found ways to screen for the common Inderlanders: witch, were, or vamp but others, like selkie, banshee, and undine, were not so common therefore I doubted their security would be keyed to detect them. For a moment, I wondered if they were able to prevent elves from entering. I grinned a bit maliciously as I contemplated the hassles Trent might have in avoiding the place. Kennywilde was, after all, an often used site for meetings and social gatherings for the wealthy humans in the Cincinnati region. He surely had to attend meetings there occasionally.

Glen continued his explanation of some of the security features in place at Kennywilde. He detailed that the entire club was located on hallowed ground which eliminated dead vampires and the demonic. It would also make any weres nervous too.

"There it is," the FIB detective commented as the opulent homes disappeared on the left side of the road. In their place, a dark, almost gothic fence rose to pointed spikes into the sky. Squinting in the dark, I realized the twelve foot spikes were cold iron.

"Wow," I muttered. "If that iron fence runs around the entire property, they must have spent a small fortune on it."

As we traveled along the impressive fence, I noticed small little cylinders along the fence which looked quite similar to hummingbird feeders. My indignation grew.

"The damn place snow cones pixies," I hissed.

"Huh?" my confused companion replied. "Snow cones?"

I cussed under my breath as the desire to string up the entire lot of people associated with the country club overflowed with my explanation.

"Snow coning is the Inderland term for putting out feeders with sugared water or honey to entice pixies into eating it. The treat is normally laced with some form of poison which then kills them. They sugar the pixies then ice them. Snow coning."

Glenn frowned as he glanced quickly from the road to the fence as if to confirm what I said.

"It's not illegal," Glenn countered.

"It should be," I growled.

"Pixies and Fairies fall under the vermin laws," Glenn replied as if the letter of the law would make everything better.

"It's murder," I stated as I crossed my arms on my chest in frustration and disgust. "It's practically state sanctioned genocide."

"But not illegal," Glenn stated once more.

All I could do was growl in return. It was wrong and Glenn knew it. The government might not acknowledge that the little folks were real people but that didn't make it right. Once more standing on opposites sides of the chasm between Inderlander and human, we fell silent. Truth be told, it might not have just been a difference between Inderland and humans. Most of the witches, weres and vamps that I knew didn't consider pixies or even fairies worth their consideration. Personally, I thought they were all idiots.

Glenn turned his very average sedan into the lit entrance way to the club. Space, almost like a miniature parking lot, was situated along the road to create an informal holding pen for vehicles. A huge, spiked iron gate covered the two lane driveway that led deeper into the Kennywilde grounds. Four armed guards stood sentry at the entrance. Light glowed from a decent sized guard house and I could see at least two additional guards moving in the warm glow. One of the exterior guards slid open the gate and allowed the car in front of us to pull into the lane but he closed the gate and motioned us to stop. Two of the guards approached and Glenn rolled down his window. He then hit the button to turn on the interior vehicle light. The first guard asked for our invitation while the second one placed his hand on the hood of the sedan.

Through the open window, I heard the second guard call to the first that there were two auras in the car. The first guard then handed two silver bracelets through the window and watched as Glenn and I placed the ley-line grounding bracelets on each other.

The first guard then addressed Glenn formally.

"Do you swear upon your life and soul that you will respect the rules of hospitality while on the Kennywilde grounds?"

Suddenly nervous, I listened as Glenn intoned "I swear."

When the guard turned his attention to me, I licked my lips and wondered if the verbal agreement would constitute a binding contract. From the stiff manner it was being delivered, I suspected it was.

"Do you swear upon your life and soul that you will respect the rules of hospitality while on the Kennywilde grounds?" the guard demanded of me.

I tilted my head to the side and smiled innocently at the guard. Glenn stiffened slightly at my pause.

"What are the house rules on hospitality?" I politely inquired.

Glenn sighed.

For a moment, the guard just stared at me as if I had grown a second head. He had clearly never been asked the question before this. Normal guests must just agree without thought. They were fools.

"Ma'am, I just need you to answer the pledge," he replied as if that would suddenly convince me to possibly bind my life and soul to a code of contact that I did not know. He repeated the oath and waited expectantly for me to answer.

"Uh, no?" I replied.

"Rachel..." muttered detective Glenn in frustration as a third car pulled into the small waiting space behind our vehicle.

My eyes flashed in momentary anger at the impatient guard and Glenn. They obviously didn't realize the danger in swearing an oath. Perhaps it made sense to them. To humans, the pledge was just words. They were something to be repeated as part of a routine. For a being with magic, words were power. There was no way I was agreeing to something if I did not know all the facts. When the guard once more repeated his request, I told him to take a flying leap. This time, Glenn didn't even bother sighing and skipped right to a growl.

"Just agree," he ordered tightly.

"No," I responded just as strongly. No matter how important the FIB thought this event was, I was not blindly agreeing to anything.

The guard motioned and asked that Glenn pull his vehicle to the side. Disgusted at me, the FIB officer parked he car in front of the small guard house. Another guard approached the car and asked what the problem was. Glenn tried to explain about the oath but I interrupted him. I stressed to him that I could not verbally bind an oath without the proper information. Our new guard, an older human who appeared old enough to remember the Turn well, leaned against the door and through Glenn's open window.

"You're the witch, huh?"

I nodded and he smiled warmly. I heard him chuckle before turning to his co-workers. He told them that he had it under control and then asked Glenn to allow him into the car. Suspicious but desperate to do whatever he needed to do to get through the gate, Glenn flipped the switch on the door locks. The guard slid into the back seat and instructed Glenn to pull up to the gate. Under the guard's direct supervision, Glenn was allowed to enter through the gate. Slowly, he followed the older man's directions up the drive until we arrived at the humongous clubhouse and banquet facility at the center of the private golf coarse. The older gentleman gave us a rolling commentary about things in the dark that we could not see as we progressed along the long lane and finally to the front of the monstrous club house.

The guard, who introduced himself as Sam, shuffled me and my FIB escort through the front door after Glenn presented his keys to one of the smartly dressed valets. When we entered, an assertive attendant swooped forward and confiscated my cloak and Glenn's overcoat. She handed Glenn two little tags which he absently dropped into the pocket of his tuxedo coat.

Once inside the lobby, I could not help but crane my neck as I stared in awe at the strange architecture and decorations. Iron horseshoes, hex signs, and religious symbols were prominent in the decorating and I found myself fighting a strange sense of vertigo as I stared around the room. The walls did not seem to meet at right angles and it took me a few moments to realize that the room was actually a hexagon and not the expected rectangle.

Sam patted my arm.

"Give it a moment and your brain will adjust," he explained before asking us to remain where we were while he retrieved a copy of the hospitality rules. The kind guard quickly returned with a printed sheet of rules. He handed it to me. I scanned the guidelines before showing them to Glenn.

"I can't agree to that," I apologized to the considerate guard and he nodded in understanding.

"I figured not," he replied before pulling a pen from his pocket and slashing through three of the items on the list. He initialed the slash marks.

"Better?"

"Number five too," I stated.

Sam smiled as his pen crossed out the rule stating that guests swore to not now or ever be-spell or otherwise enchant any another Kennywilde guest.

After this final adjustment, I was willing to sign the form and Glenn's signature as well as Sam's name were placed as witnesses.

"I appreciate this," Glenn stated with obvious relief to the guard who was willing to compromise to allow me entry to the club.

Sam patted my arm affectionately as he assured my FIB escort that he was happy to make my visit smoother.

"She's such a cute, young thing. Reminds me of my granddaughter. She has red hair and adorable freckles too. I am sure Ms. Morgan will be just as well behaved as my sweet little Carrie is when she comes to visit," Sam stated with an indulgent grin and yet another pat on my arm.

"Somehow I doubt that," sounded a voice from behind me.

A shiver ran up my spine in response to the almost lyrical tone that hinted at dark and sinful promises. It has been said that chocolate has some sort of chemical that elevates mood. If a voice could be tasted, then that voice behind me would be the darkest, richest, and most decadent chocolate ever found. Never let it be said that I didn't enjoy a little sinful indulgence, auditory or otherwise. I shivered again in anticipation.

Glenn groaned softly as his eyes flitted to confirm the speaker.

"Good evening, Ms. Morgan," Trent Kalamack called as he stepped into our little circle.

I could not help but turn to the owner of that sinful voice and my breath caught like a swollen lump in my throat. Glenn might look handsome in his tuxedo but Trent Kalamack, bio-drug lord, murderer, general bad guy and bane of my existence, was something straight from one of those trashy yet romantic novels with the unimaginably perfect hero. He was nothing short of gorgeous and his green eyes sparkled in amusement when he realized that I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. The package was perfection but I gave myself a quick mental shake. I might find the wrapping attractive but the man, no the elf underneath, was another thing entirely.

"Trent," I finally replied with an inclination of my head and my best attempt at coolness before turning to Sam the guard and thanking him for his help. With a final smile and affectionate pat on my arm, the guard excused himself.

Glenn attempted to fill the ensuing silence with a polite greeting to the rich and powerful councilman while he was rapidly devising a plan to remove me from his presence. I could not help but smile wickedly at the detective's obvious pain in trying to decide which would be more of a political nightmare: leaving me in the company of a man I obviously despised and hoped to one day arrest or tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and striding from the room.

Ever the polite business man while in the public eye, the damn blond elf smoothly returned the detective's greeting. He then turned his unwavering attention to me.

"Might I have a few moments of your time, Ms. Morgan?" Trent inquired with an innocent expression on his face that did not fool me for a minute.

Suddenly, the lump lodged in my throat dropped to my stomach as his intention became clear. Quen had obviously not given up on securing whatever request he had tried to make at the church. Once he learned where I was headed for the evening, he had just realized a better plan. The security officer had passed the job to the pinch hitter. I started to shake my head but the Turn-cursed elf reached forward and grabbed my hand. Like the debonair gentleman he pretended to be, Trent stepped towards me and captured my right hand. He lifted it to his lips and placed the softest kiss on the knuckles. The barest hint of cinnamon and wine washed over my senses and Trent took advantage of my moment of weakness as I enjoyed the smell that always surrounded the blond elf. He tucked my arm through his own arm and began walking away from my silent FIB escort.

Realizing that his trophy was being usurped, Glenn attempted to protest but Trent just kept moving. From over his shoulder, he promised to return me in a few minutes even as he pulled me down a side hallway and away from the sounds of the party. Worried but not in a position to make a fuss, Detective Glenn just watched us disappear around the corner.

"No amount of overtime is worth this," he muttered to no one in particular.


	3. Chapter 3

Trent ushered me quickly down a quiet hallway, turned the corner and propelled me forward down the new hallway. As we strolled past ornate wooden doors, my elf escort tried doorknobs until he encountered one that turned under his hand. He opened the door into the darkened room and yanked me into the dim interior. I allowed Trent to close the door before I yanked my arm out of his relaxing grip.

"The answer is still no," I hissed as my hand landed on the door handle in a clear announcement that I was not staying in the small, dark office with the stubborn businessman who always thought that the world in general, and me in specific, should be at his beck and call.

To thwart my attempt to leave, the elf leaned his back against the closed door. His hand rose and patted his wispy blond hair to ensure that it was still in its proper place. Trent then crossed his arms over his well proportioned chest and smirked.

Despite the darkness in the room, I could still see the expression. I fought the urge to wipe it from his face with my fist. Instead of appeasing the desire, I dropped my hold on the doorknob and stepped away from the blocked exit. Turning, I stalked deeper into the small room to stand in front of the imposing wooden desk that was centered in the middle of the richly appointed office. From the size of the hard wood monstrosity, two pixie clans could comfortably winter in it. My chest constricted momentarily before I patched the pixie clan size hole in my heart with some will power putty. Thoughts once more in hand, I returned to the task at hand.

My eyes quickly cataloged the rest of the room. The dim light from the two windows did not allow for a thorough perusal but it permitted me to recognize the two leather chairs on my side of the desk, the dark pit of an unlit fire place, and dark, plush carpet. I could not tell the color of the carpet but I was betting it was a ridiculously dark red.

Casually, I leaned my hip against the front of the desk. I mirrored Trent's position by crossing my own arms and offering him my own version of a smirk.

A silent battle of wills ensued as we stared through the dimness at each other. My agitation and discomfort for the entire purpose of this evening served as a fine foundation on which to hold my vexation at Kalamack's underhanded dealings and ongoing disregard for my independence. As time passed slowly in silence, my ire grew. From his spot against the solid hardwood door, Trent almost seemed to relax slightly as we glared at each other. My eyes narrowed as I fleetingly wondered if the Turn-cursed elf was actually more comfortable standing in the dark with an agitated witch glaring spitefully at him than he was mingling with the snobbish humans and their powerful politicians that were infesting the nearby banquet hall.

"Somehow, I doubt that Ellasbeth will appreciate you compromising your relationship by hiding in a dark office with someone she thinks is a paid escort," I stated snidely as I verbally poked at the seemingly calm and content elf. The well dressed jerk was obviously feeling too comfortable in the supposedly Inderland-free zone and I was hoping to force just a bit of my own unease into him.

"What my fiance doesn't know won't hurt me," Trent returned easily as he uncrossed his arms and relaxed further. He absently straightened the cuffs of his silk tuxedo as if he needed something to do with his hands for a moment as he weighed his options.

My green eyes tracked the elegant movement of his graceful hands as they shifted to unbutton the single button of his dark tuxedo jacket. Trent casually stepped deeper into the room. Confidently, he sunk into the shadow of one of the plush leather chairs. He leaned back like he owned the place which only made me frown fiercer. I didn't mind him acting like he owned the space but I refused to let him think he owned me.

"So where is your ice princess?"

Trent quirked his eyebrow in the infuriating fashion that I really wish I could learn and snorted.

"As if she would lower her standards to attend something like this love festival of human ignorance. I am only here because it would be politically suspect not to attend," the businessman admitted.

"You don't like the FIB director's policy of 'naked truth'?" I inquired with overly-dramatic shock.

The naked truth policy was FIB Director Brent Hatch's nationwide attempt to have everyone experience face value in all proceedings related to him. Not even the tiniest vanity charm was allowed at any of his functions or in his offices. It was part of Hatch's political agenda that normally endeared him to the human masses and kept him firmly entrenched in the power structure of the human run FIB. Personally, I thought it just reinforced the inherent differences between humans and Inderlanders while vilifying the differences that made us each unique.

Startled by my only mildly mocking response as opposed to the blistering tirade he expected in regards to my feelings about the obviously prejudiced mandates, Trent actually smiled at my amateur theatrics. His normally stern lips shifted into a small yet true smile and I was once again reminded that for all his money, power, and prestige, Trent Kalamack was only a few years older then me. Normally, his businessman or politician persona radiated the aura of an older, more experienced man. In the fleeting moments when he truly smiled, the handsome blond was transformed into someone younger, freer and infinitely more dangerous. Even his murderous, drug-dealing, bio-engineering scum facade did not frighten me like that momentary glimpse at the man before me who so casually wore so many different hats.

In the next heartbeat, Trent sighed softly and the frightening elf slid back under his evening's persona.

Hearing the soft exhale of his breath, I could not help but wonder if I had now infected him with the sighing disease too. From inside my purse, my cell phone rang. Pulling it from its home, I read that the call was from Detective Glenn. He was obviously worried that I had murdered Trent and was busy stuffing his body in a closet somewhere. Though tempting in my private twisted fantasy, I doubted murdering Trent would be the most productive maneuver at this time. Since I was currently in a relatively secure building with hoards of private security not to mention a high concentration of FIB personnel, it would have to remain a hidden desire. With a single touch, the call was forced into my voice mail.

"I really don't have time for this tonight," I stated firmly as I tucked the phone back into my purse. "Detective Glenn can be patient but Captain Edden will not be happy with my slipping away."

I pushed away from the desk and started for the door.

"Wait, Morgan, I had hoped..."

"Sorry, Trent," I replied as my hand found the door knob. "I can't help you tonight and if you still need me later, then call and make an appointment. I might even answer the phone if I am feeling particularly masochistic."

"Morgan..." the infuriated elf called as I exited the room without a second glance. I didn't stick around to hear him sigh once more or watch him run his hand through his hair nervously. I was too busy stalking from one unwanted situation towards another. It was the story of my life. Seeing Glenn waiting in the hallway with his cell phone in his hand, a frown on his face, and his livid father at his elbow, I could not help but sigh again. It was official. Tonight really wasn't my night.

Pasting a vapid smile of my face like the trophy Edden expected, I called an enthusiastic greeting to the two men who were normally my favorite FIB officers. Neither man smiled in return. They obviously knew me well enough to know that my effervescent flare was nothing but a sham.

"Good evening, Ms. Morgan," Captain Edden returned as his cool cop gaze gauged the chance of my being a pain in his posterior this evening. Even if I tried my best, I figured he was still destined for a sore behind. It was inevitable.

A bit of real humor drifted into my expression as I reveled in the fact that both Glenn and Edden where every bit as uncomfortable with my trophy status tonight as I was. Knowing that they dreaded the situation every bit as much as I did forced a more companionable attitude into my frame of mind.

"You are not where you are supposed to be," Captain Edden lightly scolded. "Though somehow I am not surprised."

I just grinned at the FIB officer. We all knew that I was great at causing the captain heartburn. I could never get away with any real protest to his complaint without being named a liar.

"Sorry about the wait," I apologized with an almost believable expression on my face. "Councilman Kalamack felt the need to share a few words with me."

Edden sighed and it was official. I was contagious.

"Just let the grudge go for one evening, Morgan. That is all I ask," the ex-military man pleaded with a desperation that I suspected was not just fear related to his or his son's positions in the FIB in regards to their willingness to cross the perceived barriers previously maintained by the human run law enforcement agency. "Once you leave the grounds, you are free to feel what you want. For tonight, be civil. I beg you."

"I can behave," I stated with a toss of my head that in no way dislodged the chip I carried on my shoulder with Trent Kalamack's name inscribed firmly in its center.

Glenn snorted quietly in disbelief and his father sighed again.

Some of the good will I was feeling leaked a bit from the edges of my smile. I reached out and placed my arm on Detective Glenn's firm forearm. My green eyes narrowed slightly as I raised my chin slightly.

"I am not a screw-up," I firmly stated with my hackles rising slightly. My face flushed in response to my rising emotions.

"Just do your best to not offend anyone, Morgan, and we will all make it through the evening," Edden replied.

My humor dwindled further but I resisted the sudden urge to succumb to the seduction of a lusty sigh.

"I think I can handle being a trophy," I intoned coolly.

"She'll be fine, Captain," Glenn stated as he offered me an attempt at a companionable smile. "Like a walk in the park."

"I walk in the park in uncomfortable clothes and useless shoes," I muttered in disgust which caused both FIB officers to chuckle slightly.

"Yeah... a walk in the park," the FIB captain repeated as a tight smile returned to his lips.

"Well, we should get walking then," he added as his shoulders rose and his back straightened like he was preparing to march into battle. He turned to lead his son and I into the banquet hall. He approached the doors but stopped. He swung around to face Glenn and I once more. He offered me an encouraging grin that reminded me of the look a father would give his daughter before she left on the arm of some pimpled prom date. I might not have had the chance to see my dad smile at me like that but I imagine he would have smiled the same way. The smile was tight with a combination of pride and worry. Edden knew what I was facing tonight in our bid to help cement my working relationship with his office. He wasn't about to let me go into it feeling so edgy. Just like any man who had been happily married, the FIB captain did what he thought would make me feel happier. He complimented me.

"For what it is worth, Morgan, your clothes might be uncomfortable but they look lovely. You should go without the complexion charm more often too," he added as he turned. "Your freckles make you look more harmless and innocent."

With that verbal bomb dropped on the carpet, Edden stepped into the banquet hall.

"Not to mention, they are cute," he threw over his shoulder.

Glenn couldn't help himself and chuckled at his dad comment that mirrored his earlier one. My hand tightened on his arm as I flashed him a death glare to rival any Gorgon's gaze. Unlike my FIB escort, I was not amused. Unfortunately, I had no real way to express it as Glenn swept me into the busy banquet room. Instead, I slapped an almost friendly smile on my face and slipped into trophy mode.


	4. Chapter 4

As I stood beside Detective Glenn and sipped from a delicate crystal punch glass, I wondered why I had been so stressed about attending this evening's festivities. Although nothing like a festival and more the expected stuffy cocktail party, the FIB gathering was passing rather uneventfully. I was not going to complain either. It made it easier to stand and politely smile like vapid arm candy when no one actually wanted to speak to me.

I could have done without the stage whispering I kept hearing about myself but it wasn't an evening breaker. I had certainly heard worse during my time as an Inderland Security runner. For that matter, I had heard worse while attending college. Nothing compared to the cattiness of popular girls who hate you because their hormonally and intellectually challenged boyfriends find you more interesting or more attractive. My gaze scanned the gathering and paused for a moment on a certain charismatic blond. I smirked. Perhaps something could compare after all. From my recent experience, it seemed that pampered elf princesses could hold their own in the cattiness category. My smirk shifted into a more thoughtful expression as I wondered if being married to Elsbeth would be considered Karmic justice. Trent's actions made a lot of folks' lives miserable. At least with his current decision, he would be making his own life miserable and not innocent bystanders.

"I'm not sure which is scarier, your smirk or your thoughtful face," Glenn spoke softly to me as he deftly exchanged my now empty punch glass with a filled one. The expert wait staff moved seamlessly away from us without interrupting our conversation.

I turned my attention from the elf across the room back to my FIB escort. I grinned a bit evilly.

"You know me, Glenn," I replied. "Fear the thoughtful one. Consider all the trouble I get in just flying by the seat of my pants. Then think about all the trouble I could create if I was really thinking about it and making an effort."

"Remind me to retire when you decide to start working that way," Captain Edden added as he caught the tail-end of our conversation when he rejoined us. For the past twenty minutes, the FIB division head had been schmoozing like a practiced professional. I guess that you don't become head of your own division in the human run FIB without knowing the political social butterfly skill. It was a skill that I never acquired. Perhaps I would not have floundered in the underbelly of Inderland Security if I had played the game better. I shook my head. I never had played well with others. I just wasn't the social butterfly type. I was more the stomp across the garden, beat the flower into submission, and then drag the flower away kind of person. I preferred my kick butt boots to soft soled tap shoes for skirting all the real issues.

Both Glenn and I stiffened at the return of his father. Suddenly nervous once again, I gulped the remainder of my punch. Handing the empty glass to a passing wait staff, I placed my hand once again on Glenn's offered elbow and we followed his father towards a collection of older men. It was the moment I had been dreading for days.

On the way, I snagged a fourth glass of the light and fruity punch. It gave me something to occupy my nervous hands. Perhaps if my mouth was getting me in trouble, I could use the sweet liquid as a distraction tactic.

As a I took a small sip of the cheery punch, I felt a shiver of heat flash through my body. If it had been cold, I might have considering it a shiver of dread but it was hot. It was more like a flash of passion or a spike of adrenaline. It set me more on edge. Even as I followed Edden across the floor, I glanced over my shoulder in unease. From across the room, I met Trent's bright green eyes. He had been following my progress across the banquet hall. I smiled at him with enough teeth that it almost seemed more like a threat than a friendly gesture. I raised my cup in a mock toast. The handsome elf narrowed his eyes and his lips pressed into a hard line. Feeling like I had won the exchange for some reason, I happily turned back to the real task at hand.

Taunting Trent was fun, but I was here for more important things. Edden was finally ready to introduce me to the federal FIB director. I forced my vicious smile to a more pleasant and friendly one.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, Director Hatch," Edden expressed respectfully as he addressed the small collection of older men who were standing at the center of the large banquet hall. The rest of the gathering seemed to flow around the visiting politicians. Everyone seemed to be surreptitiously focused on the central figures but all the guests still seemed to be respecting their positions by affording the director and his companions with a wide, unoccupied buffer of space in a perimeter around them.

"As I mentioned, sir," Edden continued. "I wanted to introduce you to one of my detectives, Matthew Glenn and a young consultant who has aided us in a couple difficult cases. Her name is Rachel Morgan."

Edden moved his hand to draw attention to Glenn and me. Four pair of eyes shifted over us. They passed over my escort first. Measured glances tried to determine how productive and successful an officer was being presented to them. Glenn nodded in respect to the four men in formal wear. Finding nothing obviously amiss with the detective, the stares moved to me. I made the effort to make myself appear as friendly and harmless as possible. Since I wasn't waving my spell gun, invoking ley line spells or physically assaulting someone, I thought I pulled off harmless and innocent pretty well.

Three out of four sets of eyes narrowed in what could have been a number of negative emotions but I figured was suspicion.

"You're the witch," accused one of the well dressed men. I decided he was ignorant stooge number one.

"Last time I checked, yes, I was," I replied evenly and without a trace of the ire that seemed to be gurgling in my stomach and making my chest feel tight.

The gentleman who had muttered the disgust at my status as a witch took a half step back at my casual reaction. He glanced nervously to the man on his left as if looking for guidance. I followed his differing gesture and met the dark eyes of the federal FIB director.

"What do you think about helping the FIB, Ms. Morgan?" Director Hatch inquired with a politically practiced tone that betrayed none of his true feelings.

I glanced at Glenn and Edden and smiled before offering my honest response.

"I am thoroughly impressed with the attention to detail that your agency routinely exhibits. The sheer volume of data that they collect at each crime scene and about each suspect is staggering. I am honored that Captain Edden has given me a chance to contribute at times to their investigations."

Brent Hatch tilted his head slightly and stared at me for a moment more.

"You used to be an Inderland Security Runner, correct?"

I nodded.

"How do you think the two agencies compare?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or the one that is going to make you happy?"

"I find truth more amusing than fiction, Ms. Morgan" Director Hatch replied with the first hint of an indulgent smile.

I took a long drink from my punch as I gathered my thoughts. I hadn't ruined the evening for anyone but stooge number one yet so I figured I was on a roll.

"I think the FIB is generally out-gunned whenever they encounter something that is beyond human in nature but I think Cincinnati's office has compensated the best way they could. They appointed Detective Glenn to work with Inderland related cases and they have made a conscious effort to learn more about the Inderland community. The way I see it, gaining new knowledge can never be harmful. On top of that, Captain Edden and Detective Glenn seem to have a knack for knowing when something might be outside the realm of their skills. Instead of endangering their officers, they are willing to contact others whose skills are better matched to handle the issues."

The gentleman who had felt the need to shove me in the witch box instead of seeing me as a person scoffed. "So you like being Edden and Glenn's leashed witch? It give you a rush to have a legal vent for your naturally amoral, violent and bullying nature?"

Not unexpectedly, I stiffened at the racially rude comments that the director's companion had uttered not in a whisper but to my face. Under my hand, I could feel Glenn's forearm tense.

"I am not on anyone's leash, sir," I replied as calmly as I could manage although I know that my smile had morphed into a snarl. I wasn't about to even deem the other statement with a reply. If I did, it would only make me seem more aggressive in the prejudiced stooge's eyes.

"Ms. Morgan's assistance has been an asset to my department," Edden stressed in hopes of not only diffusing the tension but also confirming his position of support in my consulting with the FIB.

"I always felt safer when I was armed properly when working a case," interposed the one gentleman who had not looked at me with disdain when I was introduced. He glared at stooge number one as if disappointed in his behavior.

"Of course, Henry, but your sidearm wasn't going to turn and shoot you," the FIB director replied.

"And you think I am going to shoot your officers?" I accused in disbelief. I had expected a lot of things but being told I was a danger to the FIB personnel was not what I was expecting.

"Well, not shoot, but perhaps spell?" Hatch confirmed casually.

"It's only a matter of time," muttered chief prejudiced jerk number one again.

A flash of heat swept over my body and I tightened my grip on Glenn's arm. For a moment, I fought with the staggering sensation which prevented me from answering the self-righteous bureaucrat's blatant hostility with a bit of my own. Something was definitely off. Instead of replying indignantly, I closed my eyes a moment to try to figure out what might be wrong. Nervously, I wondered if some of the weird decorations and architecture in the clubhouse really were detrimental to witches.

Since I did not respond to the dig, Glenn took the silence to explain some of the benefits my skills and knowledge have afforded the FIB.

"Excuse me for interrupting," a smooth voice broke into the heated argument that had continued around me even without my inflammatory contributions. Another flash of heat flowed over me at the sound of Trent's voice. On the tail end of the heat, a shiver ran up my spine. A languid smile flitted across my lips and I quickly gulped the last of my punch to cover my unconscious response to the elf's chocolate syrup tone.

"I am wondering, Director Hatch, if you and your colleagues actually fear the witch or the magic more?" Trent inquired innocently before he tilted a crystal glass of sparkling water to his lips.

As expected, prejudiced stooge number one snorted at the very notion on being afraid of witches or of magic.

"I understand you employ a number of witches, Councilman Kalamack," Director Hatch countered. "Don't you worry about the potential dangers of working so closely with Inderland magic users?"

"My employees tend to cause little problems whether they are human or Inderlander. It is all a matter of finding the proper person for the proper position," Trent replied with a confident smile.

Now it was my turn to snort. It wasn't just good hiring practices that kept Trent's employees in line. Loyalty, pay and good benefits only carried a company so far. It was Kalamack Industries' severance package that prevented any major issues within his substantial holdings. Termination of employment had a whole different meaning for Trent's organization.

The shift in the discussion continued around me as Trent turned to my escort.

"Detective Glenn," he addressed softly with a seemingly helpful and encouraging smile on his face. "It seems that Ms. Morgan's punch in gone. Perhaps she could use another drink."

My darker green eyes met his brighter ones and for a fleeting moment I believed his earnest expression. He took a sip of his sparkling water and offered me a smile that seemed to hold a secret. My heartbeat increased and I licked my lips nervously in response to the light in his eyes and the quirk of his lips.

"I suggest you try the red wine, Ms Morgan," Trent recommended. "I understand it is exquisite and you will definitely prefer it to the punch you have been drinking."

Glenn blinked slowly at Trent in thanks for the offered escape route he provided us. The FIB detective then made a show of excusing the two of us from the debate on the excuse of my need for a new drink. My tuxedo clad escort led me away from the group of FIB politicians and we both sighed in relief.

"So do you want some more punch or would you like to try the red wine?" Glenn inquired as we approached one of the wait staff carrying drinks.

I still didn't want to drink alcohol and so my hand moved towards another glass of punch. Before I clasped it though, I had a thought. Trent knew I couldn't drink red wine. He knew but still said I would prefer it to the almost addictively tasty punch. The muscles in my stomach tightened as I anxiously snatched back my hand.

"I think I would like some water," I stated softly.

The waiter smiled and immediately went to secure me a bottle of sparkling water and a crystal glass filled with ice. Remembering that Trent did not have ice in his glass of water, I dumped the ice cubes into one of the discarded glasses on a nearby table. I broke the seal on the water and poured it into the now empty glass. Before taking a sip, I glanced over my shoulder to see Trent following my actions. This time, he toasted me before turning his attention back to the visiting politicians who I somehow believed that in whose company he really didn't want to be.

A new wave of heat washed over my body and I found myself closing my eyes yet again to fight the strange sensation. In the temporary darkness behind my closed lids, I concentrated on regulating my breathing in hopes of stopping my suddenly racing heart. I took a deep breath. For the first time this evening, I became aware of the aftershave Glenn was wearing. It was mellow and masculine and I shuddered as the smell teased my olfactory senses.

"Morgan, are you okay?" the officer asked as he placed his hand against my back when he saw me sway slightly.

The warmth from Glenn's hand seemed to seep into my skin. I shuddered the same way I do when Kisten touches me. It was a warmth and play that would be natural in the company of my vampire lover but completely out of place with the FIB detective. My eyes shot open with a wild expression.

"There is something in the punch," I stated with a mild panic causing an instant headache behind my eyes.

"There can't be," Glenn countered. "I drank three glasses of it and I feel fine."

Although his hand on my back felt wonderful, I forced myself to step from his touch. The loss of the warmth was only momentarily painful but then it faded to the background once more.

"It's gotta have some kind of spell in it," I stressed. "There is something definitely wrong and I think that is why Trent steered me to the red wine. I can't drink it because of a food allergy but he was in essence telling me it would be better to have the allergen than the punch. It has to be spelled."

Glenn frowned as if trying to follow the logic.

"Kennywilde is built on the principle of negating all things beyond the human norm. There is no way they put a spell in your punch," countered Glenn. "In fact, how could they put something in your punch specifically. You have been getting drinks from different wait staff all evening. No one would have any way of knowing which glass of punch you would take."

I shook my head as another flash of heat coursed through my body and made my skin feel like it was on fire. At least this time, the effect was shorter and seemed less intense then the previous ones.

"Maybe it's not a spell. Maybe its a drug," I countered.

"Again, I drank it too," my escort replied quietly.

"Yeah, but maybe it only works on witches?" I speculated.

Glenn's frown increased.

"Should I take you home? Do you want to go the hospital?"

I shook my head. I somehow doubted whatever they slipped me was going to kill me. I think Trent might have intervened a bit sooner if it would have had dire consequences. After all, if whatever drug they slipped me was going to kill me, he would never get his claws on my life. You can't employ me if I was dead so a dead Rachel wasn't going to help him.

"I want to talk to Trent," I decided.

"Oh yeah, because you talking to Trent always makes things better," Glenn replied with a hint of sarcasm seeping into his voice.

"Can't make it worse," I countered with a wolfish grin.

All Glenn did was shake his head helplessly and sigh in response.


	5. Chapter 5

A quick glance at the cluster of politicians they had recently escaped revealed that Councilman Kalamack had also slipped away. It figured. The Turn-cursed elf was always where I didn't want him but never seemed to be where it would possibly help me. Both my FIB escort and I searched the formally clad crowd for sight of the charismatic blond. For once, I wished the elf had his freakishly tall companion with him. Johnathan would have been easier to spot in the crowd than his shorter Sa'han. Before we could spy our prey, an announcement interrupted the steady chatter that filled the room. A disembodied voice, compliments of the subtle sound system, invited everyone to take their seats for dinner.

Glenn had previously found our table where we had been tucked in the corner so we knew exactly where we needed to head. It was the farthest most table from the head table where the federal FIB director and his cronies were seated. I suspected if the event coordinators could have assigned the amoral and dangerous witch who was foisted on their unappreciative establishment to a table outside of the banquet hall, it would have happened. As it was, I was tucked in the corner along with Captain Edden, a reporter for one of the less reputable rags in town and his date and one of Hatch's obscure aides and her husband. I suspected the aide was only here to spy on me.

Originally, since Captain Edden had not brought along a companion, the eighth seat at our position had been empty. As we approached the round table, I was startled to see the seat next to mine was no longer unoccupied. Instead, the very dang-blasted person we had been seeking was casually sitting and engaging in a friendly conversation with the two couples who were already seated.

Trent's eyes flicked from his companions who he had thoroughly charmed in his normal fashion. Normally the perfect gentleman when someone might see, he smiled at me and stood as we approached. The other two males quickly followed suit. I found myself returning the handsome elf's warm smile with a suspiciously sappy one of my own as a languid heat settled in my stomach. It seemed the effects of the funky punch was still working on my system. Following Glenn docilely, I moved around the table until I was standing beside my seat and within arms reach of our target.

"Rachel?" whispered Glenn when I stopped moving but did not sit on the chair the detective had pulled graciously from the table for me. "Are you okay?"

Instead of immediately answering, I took a deep breath of the heady scent that teased me with the promise of green meadows and mulled wine. My breath hitched and I took a slight step towards the suddenly captivating elf.

A momentary flash of fear tightened the skin around Trent's green eyes and the twinkle died for a single heartbeat. Not caring about his response, I completely invaded his personal space and leaned towards his ear. If I had been wearing the heels Kisten wanted me to wear, I would have been the perfect height to whisper sweet nothings in the multi-billionaire's ear. As it was, I placed my hand on his chest and murmured into the heated junction of his neck. Another wave of heat spiked through my body as his body heat and scent seemed to wrap me in a sensory embrace.

"We need to talk," I whispered giddily for only his hearing. As the only other non-human in the room, I barely needed to breath the words and he would have heard them clearly.

Quickly, Trent took my elbow and held me in place while he stepped back. His face was slightly pinched and his grip was not gentle.

"Sure, now you want to talk," he replied with a hint of the snide arrogance I had come to expect from the self-inflated elf.

Unable to stop myself, I laughed. It was the strangest sensation. It was as if all rational thought had left and all that remained was this luxurious burning fire in my mind and body. It was almost like mainlining vampire hormones without anyone even playing with my scar. That thought alone should have frightened me but my body didn't seem to care. It was excited and comfortable and wanted to stay that way. My smile grew as Trent leaned towards me.

"You are sugared," he quietly stated as he pushed me out of his personal space and towards my seat. I stumbled as my legs bumped the padded chair and I felt Detective Glenn's hands catch me. He frowned at the strange exchange as he pressed me to sit. Confused, I didn't fight the man-handling. Instead, I frowned and tried to concentrate on reclaiming my thoughts. I realized that my heart was racing and my breath was heaving as if I had just run a long time. Fighting back the red, foggy haze in my thoughts, I focused on my physical reaction. Slowly, I regained control.

When I finally reached some semblance of what would at least be considered normal for me, I glanced around at my table companions. Some time during my journey on regaining self-control, Captain Edden had joined the table and the wait staff had brought our salads. The table was strangely quiet as I realized that everyone else had almost finished their green, leafy first course.

I frowned. I had lost more time than I realized while reclaiming control of my mind and body. Embarrassed, I picked up my fork and took a few bites of salad. I suddenly realized that I was ravenously hungry. My noticeably more normal actions seemed to break the tension at the table and everyone appeared to relax slightly although they kept glancing at me as if waiting for the freaky red-haired witch to do something else bizarre. Even Glenn and Edden were watching me as if expecting me to sprout a second head. I decided to keep my mouth shut and ignore them all. At least that way, I wasn't giving them any more fodder against me.

Before I had even eaten half of my rabbit food that really would have benefited from some chopped, fresh tomato, the wait staff had returned and scooped away the salads and replaced the dishes with dinner plates. When Glenn had returned our RSVP cards he had chosen our dinners for the evening. Carefully, I prodded the savory smelling beef tips elegantly plated on a dish with lumpy mashed potatoes that still had the thin red skins on the crushed potatoes and steamed winter mixed vegetables.

I glanced to the side at Trent who was picking elegantly at a piece of brazed salmon over rice. Mesmerized by the movement of his hands, I absently spooned potatoes into my mouth. Unable to tear my eyes from this male that I normally despised, I still failed to notice the slightly nervous way the elf kept scanning the room. He had been doing so for most of the evening. Even if I had noticed, I most likely would not have thought a thing about it. Being one of only two Inderlanders in a crowd of Inderland haters would tend to put anyone on edge.

Trent's anxiety came to the forefront though when I leaned towards him and touched the lower part of his shoulder. He dropped his utensil and his hand flashed too fast for the eye to really see. He intercepted my touch and glared at me for a moment.

"What, Morgan?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"You said that I was sugared. Witches don't get sugared. That is a pixy thing," I stated with obvious curiosity. The curiosity faded though as I realized that Trent's hand felt so very warm against my wrist. Once again, a languid smile bloomed on my face. Trent's eyes grew momentarily large before he set his lips. Keeping a firm hold of my wrist, he pulled me towards him.

I felt his breath move along my neck as he moved towards my ear. I closed my eyes and shuddered as his unique smell washed over me again.

"You are a blasted fool," Trent hissed into my ear.

I noticed his normally hypnotic scent had shifted slightly sour as he continued.

"Stop eating the potatoes," he ordered harshly. "They are mixed with heart of palm."

I frowned. For the life of me, I could not figure how he would know the recipe for my potatoes or why it was even important.

"So?"

"It's a bloody aphrodisiac, you stupid witch," Trent harshly stated through clenched teeth.

I ripped my hand from his grip as a different flash of heat swept over my body.

"Aphrodisiacs are a fallacy. Lust spells work but just the ingredients don't do anything," I replied in a heated manner.

All around the table, the other dinner guests stopped eating and stared at our heated exchange. Glenn and Edden both sighed at the inevitable fireworks that were about to explode in our little corner of the room. Anxiously, the FIB officers glanced around the immediate area to see if anyone else had noticed the exciting little tableau unfolding at the political outcast table. Luck was with them and no one seemed to be paying any attention to Trent and me. Captain Edden tried to interject a voice of reason but neither of us acknowledged his attempt.

Unable to resist the need to show himself superior, Trent ignored our audience and replied to my statement.

"Just because you don't know something, doesn't make it untrue," the elf stated in his typical superior manner. "Where do you think the belief in aphrodisiacs came from? The Others who consumed them responded to them and the belief was born. Beings originally from the ever-after react to certain chemicals. It's simple biology, Morgan. Stimulate the limbic system with the right chemicals and you control the four Fs. It works with humans and Inderlander alike. It just takes different compounds."

"What are you talking about?" I accused. By no means was I the idiot Trent was treating me like but I would have to admit to myself that my community college education had not covered anything about whatever the four Fs were or what a limbic system was for that matter.

Trent shook his head in disgust.

"How you have survived this long is a testament to the existence of blind luck," Trent disdainfully dropped.

The flush of warm, fun heat in my body had been shifting throughout our argument until I became aware that my body was even more on fire than before. It wasn't a fuzzy feeling anymore either. This new feeling had less to do with passionate desire and more to do with the desire to put my fist into Trent's smug face.

"I'm going to show you just how much longer I can survive than you if you don't drop the attitude," I snarled viciously as my face contorted with rage and my hands clenched with the desire to attack the scummy murderer hiding behind his politician facade.

"You have no idea what... damn..." Trent started then suddenly stammered as his eyes grew wide. Confusion washed over his face as his hand rose to grab his shoulder. Blood seeped slowly from around his fingers.

It was then that the screaming began and for lack of a better term, all hell broke loose.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: For those of you who care, the limbic system is part of the parasympathetic nervous system and really does control the four Fs... flight, fight, feed and s*x... it is a kind of old bit of bio-psych humor - me**


	6. Chapter 6

For a moment, everything seemed frozen as I watched Trent's blood slowly seep onto his pale fingers and darken the shiny black silk of his tuxedo jacket. Our eyes met. Bright green filled with pain locked with deeper green filled with surprise. Screaming from behind my back broke our connection at the same time that Captain Edden pulled his weapon from under his well tailored tuxedo that had hidden his concealed carry. From beside me, Glenn also pulled a weapon as his eyes scanned the mass of humanity that was reacting to an as yet unseen danger.

In a moment of panic, I tried to tap a line. When nothing happened, I remembered that the blasted club had temporarily castrated my magic. My body began to shake as it realized it was in danger and unarmed.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw nothing besides bodies scrambling away from a few pockets of focused action. Since I could not see any immediate danger and because I had two armed FIB officers at my side, I turned back to Trent to check what I suspected was a bullet wound. Although he had not lost much blood yet, the handsome elf seemed barely able to keep his eyes open and he had slumped in his chair. It was strange; he was acting almost like he was under the influence of a slow potion or spell. As I reached for the sinking elf, his eyes closed completely and he collapsed. My left hand caught at his injury as my right attempted to keep him in his seat.

"What the?" I started to question as my hand encountered something thin and smooth protruding from the wound despite the fact that I could not see anything under my fingers.

"Damn it!" Glenn cussed as he fired his weapon. "What that hell is going on Rachel?"

The rest of our table mates where cowering near the wall and edging their way away from our corner. Additional gun fire sounded from other parts of the room and the screaming continued. With a grunt, Edden flipped the table up as an impromptu protective barrier after a stray bullet bit into the wall behind us. I slid the unconscious elf in my arms to the ground and stood to survey the rest of the room. Near the entrance, a man in a tuxedo lay on the ground. Even from this distance, I knew he was dead. His head was crushed like a melon that had encountered a chance meeting with one of the golf clubs that normally visited the links at Kennywilde. Blood, flesh, skull and gray matter were splattered around his prone body.

"Morgon...what the hell is going on?" demanded Captain Edden as his stared at the body.

"How should I know?" I shouted back as the flame of rage shoved away my previous desire to flee.

"You're the weird thing expert," the FIB director replied in a strangely calm voice despite the chaos surrounding us. It was the same voice he had used before when faced with a catastrophe. Although I knew he was frustrated, he seemed to radiate a calm that inspired his subordinates to follow him.

"And that is definitely weird," he stressed at he pointed with his weapon towards the body again.

My eyes slanted back towards the formally clad dead man. Unlike the last time I had looked, the man's coat was now hanging open and his shirt had been ripped apart. There was a slowly growing wound on his stomach as if a surgeon was opening him for surgery. From our position, we could not see anyone actually making the incision.

My eyes grew large as I looked away from the victim on the floor to the elf at my feet.

"Oh man, we are so dead," I muttered as I scrambled to grab the invisible projectile imbedded in Trent's upper right shoulder.

After yanking the thin, seemingly spelled object from his body, I snapped the still unseen item in half. In the instant it broke, Trent's eyes opened and he struggled sluggishly to cover his bleeding wound. In my hands, sat two broken pieces of a wooden arrow tipped with a sharp stone arrow head on one end and feathered fletching on the other.

"What is that?" Glenn demanded as he glanced from the rest of the room to stare at the broken arrow for just a second before flicking his eyes back to the rapidly emptying ballroom.

At my feet, Trent gurgled and his eyes flew wide just before Detective Glenn was tossed from his protective position. The officer hit the wall and slid to the ground slightly stunned. His father instantly turned his weapon towards the attack on his son but there was nothing to see. There was no assailant visible.

Even though his muscles were slow to respond due to the residual spell power of the arrow that had invaded his bloodstream, Trent made a panicky gurgle and attempted to move.

Without a second thought, my hand flashed out and impaled the broken arrow into the invisible body that had just thrown Detective Glenn and moved in to complete its mission against the incapacitated elf. Before all my eyes, the previously invisible creature became visible. It's red glowing eyes were trained on the prone elf and it did not change focus even when Captain Edden fired at point blank range into its withered chest cavity. Unaffected except for slight force points by the assault of the arrowhead and the bullets, the skeletal and hanging flesh creature hefted its huge club with the intention of rendering Trent to the same condition as the other victim across the room.

Too fast for me to stop it, the deadly club swung towards the elf. Since I couldn't stop it, my body reacted with the only option to save the incapacitated billionaire. I plowed into the creature's torso and knocked the supernatural killer the couple feet until it hit the wall. The large wooden club stained black with the blood of its past victims smashed into the ground about a foot from the councilman's body.

Even though I attacked it, the creature did not move its glowing eyes from Trent's body. It had its prey and until it was dead, the ruthless hunter was not interested in anyone else. Using the unyielding focus on its target to my advantage, I reached forward, struck the creatures wrist, and swept the large club from its hands. Even as I was catching the handle of the club in my other hand, I cocked my right leg and snapped it into the assassin's torso. It staggered back a half step which gave me time to capture a better grip on the blunt weapon in my left hand. Swinging it like a little leaguer focused on a home run, I struck with my make-shift baseball bat. I scored at least a double as the club bit into the creatures upper body and crushed the side of its skull.

The adrenaline rush consumed me and I kept swinging wildly. Bone crushed under the assault and I screamed in anger and frustration with every blow. Like a mad man consumed by an unseen force, I continued to beat the flesh and bone hunter. The skull finally fell from the body but it still moved and so I kept beating on it. Almost sobbing with the emotional upheaval coursing through my body, I levered one last crushing blow against the skull and it shattered. The red glow faded from its eyes and the remaining small pieces of bone, flesh and dried organs finally stilled.

Shaking like a leaf in a storm, I screamed a final battle cry and sunk to the floor as Glenn stepped towards me. He was rubbing the injury on the back of his shoulder but he still crouched beside me to try to calm me.

"Morgan," he called softly and hesitantly reached towards me. He appeared apprehensive of touching me in fear of setting off whatever had triggered my frenzied attack. "Morgan, are you okay?"

I laughed harshly as I raised my wild eyes to meet his concerned ones. Panic and rage still warred inside me but I reined it close enough to stand. My body still shook but some deep breathing helped me regain even more control.

While I had been playing crush the bones, Edden had pulled Trent towards the wall and had wadded some cloth napkins into a temporary bandage for his shoulder injury. The spell on the arrow was seeping from his body and Trent regained enough control to shift his leg to get a nasty piece of bone and flesh off his body.

"What in the hell was that," Trent demanded imperiously. His previous fear had been stuffed beneath his normal haughty demeanor.

My eyes swung towards the reclining elf.

"That was a baykok," I huffed.

"Which means?" Trent replied.

"It means that your damn lucky that I know important stuff like how to save your butt instead of useless stuff about the limbic system."

We stared at each other for a frozen moment as our mutual feelings of superiority over our adversary warred with each other. Another bullet bit into the wall above our squatting position and I sighed. That was it for my break from the action. I held up my arm and jingled the band on my wrist.

"Any way we can get this off?" I asked with little hope of receiving the answer I wanted.

"Sorry, Morgan," Captain Edden replied as he shook his head. I glanced at his son who mirrored his expression. Neither one had a handy set of metal snips or bolt cutters tucked in their tuxedos.

"So now what?" Edden asked as he peeked around the edge of the table and saw that there were a number of bodies on the floor now but he could still not see any other assailants. Even as he glanced across the expanse of the ballroom, he saw yet another man flung violently into the air. From opposite our position, the federal FIB director had circled his own wagons and was hiding behind a table barrier just like we were. He had more than one table at his disposal and there was a rather large collection of armed officers protecting the politicians. Unfortunately, they were quickly losing ground to their unknown assailants.

I sighed yet again and this time my entire body seemed to droop.

"Baykok can only be destroyed by crushing the spiritual life from them. I guess that you could say that they are kind of like a mythical zombie. They are hunters and will keep stalking their target until completely crushed or the prey is dead and they have eaten its organs. Or maybe it's just their spleen. Or liver. I can't remember exactly. It's been a long time since I read about them."

"How do we fight what we can't see?" Glenn posed.

I stood and hefted the purloined club. I straightened my shoulders and took a fortifying breath.

"You don't. I do," I replied as I shifted the weapon onto my shoulder and stalked from the relative safety of our table. Glenn scrambled after me telling me to stop. Of course, I ignored him with my traditional lack of respect for his imagined authority over my existence. I really did like Glenn but I really was bad with taking orders.

With the destroyed baykok's weapon in my hand, I could catch glimmers of the three remaining hunters. Two were attempting to break through the lines of officers near the head table and another one was currently feeding on a fallen officer laying in the middle of the polished ballroom floor.

Since I had to pass the feeding creature to get to the other ones, I swung my club at its head. It seemed a good idea to not pass by the feeding baykok and allow it to have access to my back. Since it was not expecting the assault during its meal, I was able to sever it's head from its body on my second wind up and swing. Ripping its own club from its leather catch on its tattered remains of buck skinned trousers, I tossed the now visible weapon to Glenn.

"You bat clean-up," I instructed him as he caught the weapon. Shoving his useless firearm back in its place, Glenn took aim at the still moving body of the downed baykok that he could now see compliments of the stolen club in his hands.

"Make sure you keep going until the red dies in its eyes," I called over my shoulder as I took off towards the remaining two monsters. A new flush of heat rushed into my system as I once more embraced the battle rage that was skimming through my bloodstream tonight.

"I gotta find out what is in that punch," I muttered as a stray bullet whizzed past me and I didn't even flinch at the bloody trail it left on my skin as it bit along the edge of my bicep. The minor injury did not register as I let loose a battle cry to make even an ancient Berserker proud. The viciousness of the ensuing bludgeoning freaked the already shaken FIB officers behind their make-shift barricade. Once I struck damage against the first baykok pounding on their barrier, it became visible to them all. For a moment, the supposedly experienced officers stared in shock at the crazy red head crushing still moving bones like something possessed. If I had been in better control of my thoughts, I might have been offended to see that just as many weapons were now trained on me as there were on the rapidly diminishing baykok body.

It wasn't until Detective Glenn joined me on the second attacker that anyone even made a move to help. Surprisingly, it was one of the cronies of Director Hatch who stepped from the protective circle, grabbed the discarded weapon by the pile of already crushed bone and flesh, and waded into the final battle with the fourth baykok. With our joint efforts, the final assailant fell swiftly beneath our blunt weapons. As the red glow left the crushed skull of the final creature, I shook my hair loose and yelled a victory scream. A half dozen weapons shifted to point at me.

Even when Captain Edden arrived at our little gathering, the guns were not lowered. The local FIB officer glared at the officers even as he shifted the support he was offering to Trent. The injured elf stood independently as Edden moved to interpose his body between the armed FIB men and his severely tarnished trophy.

"Henry, are you okay?" Director Hatch inquired as he stepped from the protection of his underlings and approached his older friend who was wiping sweat from face with the handkerchief he had previously sported in his tuxedo pocket.

Henry lifted his battle worn club in salute to me a bit like he was wielding a saber or fencing foil. Turning to his friend he assured him that he was fine. Once he was assured that his friend was uninjured, the FIB director turned to me.

"So I take it you know what those creatures were and why they attacked us?" he demanded.

Because I was still riding the chemical high, it took me a few moments to understand what he was saying. When the director repeated his almost accusatory question, I couldn't help but laugh. It started small but quickly regressed into full body laughter complete with tears trailing down my cheeks.

"You know what, Brent," I started and Edden and Glenn both stiffened. From his position on the edge of the impending showdown, Trenton Kalamack covered a grin with his elegant hand. For once, he was tickled to find that he was not the target of my some-what formidable temper.

"Those were baykok, Mr. Director," I offered in a scalding tone. "And I have no clue why they would attack your stupid shin-dig. I am a witch. I am not a mythical, solitary hunter from the woods surrounding the great lakes."

Glenn reached for me and placed a hand on my elbow in hopes of calming my building tirade. My eyes flashed as a final wave of heat coursed through my body. Although it was significantly less then any of the previous waves of influence, I was already wound so tight with frustration that I really didn't need the lingering chemical to help push me over the edge. I shook off the detective's restraining grasp and continued.

"I can't tell you why we were attacked since I am not a psychic nor a baykok but I can make one hell of a guess. I would figure you cheesed someone powerful with your "naked truth" hypocrisy. You aren't interested in truth, Brent. You are happy living an oblivious lie."

"I am a witch," I proudly stated as I pounded my chest for emphasis before lifting my arm and jingling the silver band on my wrist. "I am a witch and your wish to live in the constructed lie that magic is not part of your world cost a number of lives tonight."

I swept my arm dramatically over the room where a couple dead bodies lay in various states of destroyed life. Ti was a tragic testament to the entire stupid attitude.

"If my magic had not been stripped from me at the door of this turn-cursed club, I might have been able to recognize what was happening sooner because I would have seen the baykok's with my second sight and been able to capture them in a circle or even sleep spell them."

I took a step towards the silent FIB director.

"I am a witch," I yelled in his face and the director took a step back to escape the force and volume of my statement. "And you are a fool living in a fantasy world. There is magic all around you and to hide from it makes you as pathetic as a child hiding under the covers in fear of the monsters in the closet. A blanket will not protect you or the rest of the world from the very real monsters lurking in the shadows. If you are too big a fool to realize the benefits of working with Inderlanders to combat the real dangers in the world, then you won't last long. Hiding under a blanket or in your own equally useless fantasy world will only get you and those beneath you eaten by the monsters that really are hiding in your closet. Detective Glenn and Captain Edden are smarter than that. They will not hide from the bumps in the night. They are doing their job the best way available."

With one final glare at the entire collection of idiots, I turned to Detective Glenn.

"I am done being a trophy, Glenn. Take me home."

Without waiting for the detective to respond, I swung my new favorite blunt weapon onto my shoulder and stalked from the totally silent ballroom. It was a fine exit. The only thing that could have made it better was if I had been stomping out in my butt kicking boots. That would have completed the image. As it was, I had to settle for the tinkling chuckle that sent a shiver up my spine.

Trent was laughing as he turned to the visiting FIB officials.

"You don't need to fear the magic, gentleman. You don't need to fear the witch either. I do suggest you fear the woman though. She is a true force to be reckoned with," the elf stated with the air of one who definitely knew what he said was true.

Yeah, it made for one hell of an exit.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

The day after the disastrous FIB banquet, the door sounded at the church in the early evening. When I opened it, a courier handed me a small white envelope. Curious at its contents but suspicious of the sender's information, I walked into the kitchen where Ivy was working on her computer. She glanced up from her program as I tapped the thick stationary against the table.

"What's that?" the sultry vamp inquired.

"Something from Trent," I replied as I stared at the seemingly innocent missive and wondered if I really wanted to open it.

Since I was obviously taking too long to decide about opening the envelope, Ivy snatched it from my hand. Before I could do more than protest lightly, she had opened it. She flipped open the small card and read the contents as well as the information on the small folded paper inside the card. Her face remained blank before she handed the card and extra paper to me.

I quickly scanned the very fancily written note from Councilman Trenton Kalamack thanking me for saving his live during the attack the previous evening. I scoffed at the beautiful calligraphy writing and wondered which of his assistants actually penned the very proper note. I tossed the thank you onto the table and opened the smaller folded paper. This note was written by Trent himself. In his tight, precise handwriting, he wrote only a simple message.

_R. M. M_

_You should have taken the time to listen to me last night and this would have been a check instead of a thank you note._

_T. A. K.  
><em>

_P.S. - Your freckles were cute.  
><em>

I crumbled the note and tossed it towards the trash can as I stormed from the room. Luckily, I missed Ivy as she snagged the note and tucked it in her folder for future entertainment purposes. For a fleeting moment as I stormed from the room, I was even glad Jenks was not around. Ivy's laughter was bad enough.

"God, I hate that elf," I muttered as I stalked down the hallway and slammed my bedroom door in hopes of shutting out my roommate's unappreciated sounds of mirth. "I really do."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope that you enjoyed this little tale. It was fun to write something in a new fandom. Thank you for reading and thank you again to Grace10Hove for her cool art - me**


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